


Night Vale's Newest Citizen

by ImprobableDreams900



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Starvation, Worried Carlos, not too bad but there nonetheless, selfless Cecil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4270062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImprobableDreams900/pseuds/ImprobableDreams900
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The City Council declares Night Vale a "disaster zone," and puts all citizens on strict rations. Except there isn't enough food to go around, and Cecil decides that Carlos is more deserving of their food than he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Vale's Newest Citizen

**Author's Note:**

> So in English class last year, we read "The Poisonwood Bible" by Barbara Kingsolver. It's about a missionary family from Georgia who travel to the Congo to try and convert the natives to Christianity. The book itself is okay, but the father of the missionary family is such a horrible guy (literally all the bad crap that happens in the book is his fault) that I spent most of the book wanting to strangle him. Anyway, there's a scene set back in Georgia before they moved, and they're pretty poor and the wife is pregnant with twins. They can't afford a lot of food, so the wife makes meals for the husband and starves herself (and her unborn children) because she feels she deserves it (it's a very abusive relationship). But the thing that got me was that, when the husband figured it out, he was totally okay with it. In fact, he felt that he /deserved/ to eat the actual food, even while his wife ate dirt from the garden. At any rate, it ticked me off, and I was like 'if this happened with a beautiful ship like Cecilos, it would never end like this.'
> 
> And so I wrote this.
> 
> Set somewhere after Carlos' return from the desert otherworld.

It took Carlos almost a week to notice.

He hated that it took him that long.

~~~***~~~

Six days ago, Cecil went on the radio and announced that the City Council was declaring Night Vale a disaster zone.

The exact particulars of the disaster were not at all obvious to Carlos, who hurried to the nearest window in his lab to try and deduce the nature of the problem. Instead, the sun continued to shine down, equal parts cheery and ruthless, the hooded figure skulking along the sidewalk continued skulking, and Geoffrey, the Sheriff’s Secret Police officer assigned to his lab, stuck his head up from the bush beneath the window and asked if everything was all right, and could he maybe get a glass of water, please? It was awfully hot out.

Carlos frowned and, after acquiescing to Geoffrey’s request, spent the rest of the broadcast nervously rearranging the beakers in his cabinets because he didn’t trust himself to finish testing the pulsing green rock on his desk without messing up the readings.

Cecil spent only a couple more moments on the broadcast discussing the consequences of the classification of Night Vale as a disaster zone, reminding everyone to walk slowly while outdoors, greet each other loudly and by name, pick up their daily food rations at the Ralphs, and carry on business as usual unless notified otherwise.

By the time Cecil announced he was going to the weather, Carlos had a text ready and waiting, and hit send as soon as he heard the first musical chimes.

A moment later, Carlos’ phone purred and he looked down quickly to see Cecil’s reply:

_Don’t worry, perfect Carlos. It’s probably just a drill. I’ll pick up our dinner from the Ralphs. See you soon, xoxoxo_

Carlos was unconvinced, but the lack of empirical evidence (namely, a disaster) seemed to indicate that he had no logical reason to worry.

So he let himself relax a little, and when he got home that night, he calmed himself by listening to the soothing sound of Cecil recounting, in precise detail, the numerous drills and false alarms the city had had in its long history. It also helped that Cecil insisted he sit on the couch while the radio host made dinner—that way, Carlos could be continuously glancing out the living room window, reassuring himself that all was indeed well, and that classifying a town as a “disaster zone” was simply Night Vale speak for a city-wide tornado drill.

And when Cecil finally handed him a plate of wheat-free spaghetti—he explained there hadn’t been a lot of choices at the Ralphs, because there’d been a recent infestation of carbohydrate-loving venomous leeches that had forced them to throw out a lot of food, and new shipments from outside the city limits were forbidden for as long as the “disaster” persisted—and told Carlos that he just wasn’t feeling hungry after hearing all about the leeches from the shaken staff at the Ralphs, Carlos believed him.

And he believed him the day after that when Cecil came back late from work and said he’d eaten at Arby’s.

And the night after that Carlos didn’t see Cecil at all, and went to bed still waiting for him to come home. He woke up to find Cecil still absent and a plate of eggs and an apple on the table beside a note saying that Cecil couldn’t sleep and had gone to work early, and that he loved him.

Later that day, Carlos texted Cecil that he was getting off work a bit later than usual, and returned home to find Cecil already in bed—evidently he was having no trouble sleeping now—despite the fact that it was only eight o’clock. The radio host was also wearing matching flannel pajama tops and bottoms, which was odd, firstly because it was the height of summer, and secondly because Cecil usually slept bare-chested.

Carlos woke him up gently to let him know he was back, and Cecil muttered something about food on the counter for him. Carlos tried to convince him to come eat with him, but Cecil mumbled that he’d eaten when he got home, and only smiled sleepily and shrugged off Carlos’ good-natured jibes that Cecil couldn’t even wait to eat until his boyfriend came home. He couldn’t convince him to leave the bed, though, and Carlos ended up sitting at the table all by himself, picking worriedly at his food.

That night, Cecil rolled off onto his side of the bed and stayed that way, his back to Carlos, ignoring the scientist’s gentle attempts to snuggle closer. Carlos eventually gave up and lay on his back on his own side of the bed, telling himself that Cecil had just had a bad day. He kept his head turned towards Cecil, though, watching the faint movement of the radio host’s pajama-clad shoulder as he breathed.

Cecil spent a considerable chunk of the following morning in the bathroom, ignoring Carlos’ worried inquiries and asking him not to be late to the lab on his account. Carlos had finally relented, mostly because he didn’t want to get into an argument after last night, and because Cecil sounded so miserable, even under the layers of false cheer and placating reassurances.

When he came home that night, Cecil was already fast asleep and there was a rapidly cooling plate of rice and meatballs waiting for him on the table. This time, when Carlos crawled into bed next to him, Cecil started to roll over towards him; then he seemed to wake up a little, and he mumbled something unhappily and turned away again. Carlos stayed up a long time, staring at the ceiling.

The next day, Cecil’s voice faltered on the radio. It was just for a second, but it stilled Carlos’ hands, causing him to almost set fire to the sample he was heating over a Bunsen burner. Carlos immediately abandoned the sample and texted Cecil that he was coming over to the radio station right away, but Cecil replied back just as quickly, saying that it wasn’t necessary, and he’d just gotten something caught in his throat for a moment. Carlos didn’t believe that for a second, but he let it slide.

Things were beginning to weigh on him heavily, but he didn’t want to seem over-bearing or push Cecil away by being nosy. Cecil _was_ definitely acting strange, though—he was increasingly distant and nervous, and he almost seemed to be avoiding Carlos.

The scientist would have thought that Cecil was having second thoughts about their relationship, except that Cecil still smiled broadly whenever he saw him, called him perfect, made his meals for him whenever he was absent, and sent lots of x’s and o’s after his texts, and none of that was consistent with a version of Cecil that wanted to break up with him. Unless maybe there was some obscure law in Night Vale that said that break-ups had to be undertaken at a particular time of year or something, and Cecil was just biding his time and doing the bare minimum to avoid municipal disapproval. That got Carlos worrying even more, and he went so far as to look up the lunar cycle—the next full moon was in four days—before vowing to do something later that day. He had to at least try and figure out what he’d done wrong—before Cecil stopped sending x’s and o’s.

So he left the lab early and headed over to the Ralphs. Cecil had been picking up their daily rations for the last week, so Carlos thought he’d go and buy something he knew Cecil liked, and make it as a surprise for Cecil that night. And then they could talk, and maybe Carlos would be able to finally stop worrying. Or maybe he’d start worrying a lot more, but at least he’d know why.

So ten minutes later he found himself pulling into the parking lot at the Ralphs, which was busier than usual—presumably right-after-work was a good time for picking up food. Once inside, Carlos joined the small queue that led to a card table sitting at the front of the store. A harassed-looking teenager wearing a red polo shirt was sitting behind the table, checking names on a list and handing out little slips of red paper. The line shortened rather quickly, people stopping only briefly at the table to collect their slips of paper before heading forward into the main store, which had more bare shelves showing than a grocery store ever should.

Finally the floating deer in front of him gripped its six red tickets in its teeth and bounced off, and it was Carlos’ turn. He stepped forward a bit uncertainly.

“Name,” the teenager said in a bored tone, not bothering to look up from the list of names in front of him.

“Carlos—it’s probably under ‘the scientist,’ to be honest—and I’m also picking up for Cecil Palmer.”

The teenager skimmed through the top page and flipped through a dozen others, ticking off Cecil’s name as he found it. “Car _looooos_ ,” the teenager muttered, glancing through the list, which, Carlos saw, didn’t appear to be alphabetized or in any other discernible order. “Do you have another name?” he asked.

“Er,” said Carlos. He couldn’t think of anything else he’d be officially known as.

“What does your Citizen Card say?” the teenager rephrased.

“ _Say?_ What does it—?”

“What’s your name on your Citizenship Card?” the teenager asked again, sounding a bit testy this time. “Exactly?”

“Er,” said Carlos again, his stomach sinking. “I’m not a, um, a citizen. Technically.”

The teenager finally looked up at him, squinting and cocking his head a little. “Well, then, you don’t get ration tickets, do you? Citizens only.”

Carlos stared at him. “But I’ve lived here for years,” he protested.

“If you’re not an official citizen, no municipal handouts, no free emotions, and _no ration tickets_.” The teenager looked over Carlos’ shoulder. “Next!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Carlos said loudly, shifting closer to the center of the table to dissuade whoever was behind him. “At least give me Cecil’s, then.”

The teenager rolled his eyes and looked back down at the list. He tore off two red tickets—they said ADMIT ONE and looked like the type sold by the roll at party stores—and handed them to Carlos. “One ticket is five bucks, also redeemable at local businesses,” the teenager said in a tired voice, waving his hand vaguely behind him at the aisles. “Knock yourself out.”

Carlos took a few hesitant steps towards the shelves, but there was an acidic feeling beginning to settle in his stomach. Things were beginning to slot together in his head, and he didn’t like what they were implying. So he instead turned his feet towards the bathrooms, and sank onto a cheap-looking bench bolted to the wall just outside. He slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared at the two red tickets in his hands. Cecil’s tickets. Cecil, who was a citizen; Cecil, who had come to pick up groceries for _both of them_ for the last week. Cecil, who had been deliberately avoiding Carlos for days, leaving out plates of food for Carlos and claiming to have already eaten; _Cecil_.

It had taken almost a week for Carlos to notice.

He hated that it took him that long.

What kind of a scientist was he—no, what kind of a _boyfriend_ was he, not to notice that his partner was literally starving himself? Now that he thought about it, he recognized the signs: Cecil’s tremble on radio earlier today; the way he had refused to let Carlos get too close, and potentially notice he had gotten thinner; the obscuring pajamas; the vague excuses at mealtimes; the odd hours so he wouldn’t have to resort to vague excuses—it all seemed so incredibly obvious.

And Carlos, silly, stupid, _blind_ Carlos, had taken almost a week to realize. It made him angry and guilty and incredibly sad all at once—he wished he hadn’t eaten the delicious sandwich for lunch today that Cecil had left for him in a bag this morning, because it was turning in his stomach now, punishing Carlos for his treachery, for eating food that should have been Cecil’s.

Eventually, Carlos forced himself to his feet and wandered through the aisles, staring at the scant selection. He finally picked out a can of mixed vegetables and a wild rice soup mix, and grabbed a stuffing-filled pork chop from the meat section.

He checked out without a problem, exchanging the red tickets for his three items, which would have to last until dinner tomorrow.

The radio station was airing a re-run of today’s show on the drive home, and when Cecil’s voice caught, Carlos turned the radio off.

Once home, Carlos cooked up the pork chop, half the can of mixed vegetables, and a small bowl of soup, and set them on a plate on the table, near the seat closest to the door. Then, hating himself but knowing it was the best way to settle things, he texted Cecil that he was going to be late at the lab again, but could Cecil swing by their apartment and check to see if he’d left some science paperwork there first, please?

Sure enough, only minutes later, Carlos heard the characteristic rattle of a key in the lock and the humming of the door as it accepted Cecil’s entry spell. Carlos had turned the lights off, and was standing on the opposite side of the table, leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms crossed, waiting. As Cecil came into view, the light from the hallway spilling across his face, Carlos took a moment to study him carefully.

And now that Carlos was looking for it, it was incredibly obvious that Cecil was not all right; there were dark shadows under his eyes, despite the fact that he’d been getting plenty of sleep, and a slightly hollowed quality to his cheeks that hadn’t been there before. He looked exhausted and world-weary, and the hand on the doorknob was shaking.

Cecil reached over to flip on the lights, still unaware of Carlos’ presence. It took three tries, and on the third, Carlos wavered. Cecil really did look pathetic, and Carlos just wanted to go and give him a hug, but he knew he had to play bad cop first. It was the only way he thought he’d get Cecil to eat anything.

So Carlos set his face into one of severe disapproval as Cecil’s quivering fingers finally found the light switch and flipped it on. Cecil blinked once, twice, and froze.

His eyes roamed from Carlos leaning against the doorframe to the plate of food sitting all alone on the table and back to Carlos. Then he looked down at the floor, and Carlos was relieved to see that he at least had the grace to look guilty.

“Ah…hi, Carlos,” Cecil said at last, addressing this to the floor. He still had one hand on the open door, and Carlos saw his fingers tighten convulsively on the knob. “So, um, no science papers, then?”

“Eat,” Carlos growled. He was actually rather impressed by how authoritarian it sounded; he’d pictured it sounding deep and impressive, but figured that his voice would betray him halfway through, and was rather pleased with how it had turned out. He wasn’t _angry_ ; not really; it was difficult to be angry with someone who loved him enough to starve themselves so as not to bother him. _Frustrating_ , yes, _upsetting_ , for sure, but not _enraging_. He was mostly just hoping that Cecil would listen to orders better than pleading, at least for long enough for him to eat something.

Much to his relief, Cecil only hesitated a moment before taking another step into the apartment and closing the door behind him. He bit his lip briefly and then moved forward to the table and sat down. He shifted gingerly in the chair and glanced up at Carlos nervously. He kept his hands in his lap and made no move to pick up the fork.

Seeing Cecil there, so meek and defeated, his eyes downcast and shoulders slumped, looking terribly guilty but also worried and afraid, just about broke Carlos’ heart. He really did want to give Cecil a hug, but he was worried that the lesson wouldn’t stick if he caved immediately.

Carlos shifted his stance slightly and opened his mouth to speak, but just then realized that Cecil hadn’t directly looked at the plate of food since he had first entered. He was looking off to the side, and it suddenly hit Carlos that, after so long without eating, Cecil must be _starving_. He must be _ravenous_.He’d prepared Carlos’ meals for this whole last week…and the scientist doubted that Cecil had ever eaten any of it himself. It showed great willpower on Cecil’s part, especially since he was overriding basic instinct, and though that was extremely impressive, it was currently standing between him and a well-fed Cecil.

So Carlos set his mouth and gestured impatiently at the table. “Eat,” he repeated, though his voice was a little less harsh this time.

Cecil hesitated a few more seconds before carefully picking up the fork like it might bite him. He made to spear one of the carrots, but then hesitated again, sighed, and deliberately put the utensil back down, looking up at Carlos with a pleading look. “But, Carlos—” he began.

“No buts,” Carlos interrupted. “Eat it. I’m serious.” Carlos was aware his voice was quickly losing its authority, and tried to make up for it with inflection. “Please,” he added after a moment.

Cecil bit his lip again and looked down, this time right at the food. If he wanted to devour the whole plate instantly, he was doing a good job of hiding it. Instead, he carefully picked up the fork again, speared the carrot slice, and ate it, slowly, deliberately. He closed his eyes as he chewed, and Carlos could tell that he was trying very hard to mask how much he was enjoying it.

As Cecil worked his way through to the pork chop and stuffing, bite by careful bite, Carlos uncrossed his arms and dropped into the chair opposite, though he made no move to speak. They could talk when Cecil’s hands stopped trembling.

Cecil started to speed up as he moved to the soup, and then abruptly slowed down. He was less than halfway through the plate, and when he set the fork back down, it was slowly and with what Carlos thought was reluctance. He sat back and pushed the plate away a little—and, coincidentally, towards Carlos.

“Have the rest,” Cecil said, nodding to Carlos. “I’m good.”

Carlos narrowed his eyes at the radio host, who had carefully arranged his face into a neutral expression. He had folded his hands back in his lap again, and the offer seemed genuine, though this time he couldn’t quite mask the longing in his eyes as he glanced back over at the plate.

“Finish it,” Carlos said, not with a particular amount of force, mostly just wondering what Cecil’s response would be.

“It’s your…um, it’s your food,” Cecil insisted, though there wasn’t a lot of conviction in his voice. Cecil looked off to the side, as though he couldn’t bear to look at Carlos or the plate. “Eat it, please.”

Carlos stared at him for a long moment. Cecil must still be ravenous, but even now, he was trying to put Carlos first. “It’s not mine,” Carlos said at last, hastily blinking back a sudden wetness in his eyes. “I don’t get any. Not a citizen, remember? No food for freeloaders.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but Cecil’s eyes began to well up. “It’s a stupid rule,” Cecil said, reaching up to wipe his own eyes dry, looking irritated with himself. “You’ve as much a right to eat as anyone else. The City Council—”

“Cecil, honestly, I couldn’t care less what the City Council thinks. Right now, I’m worried about you. Please, finish eating.”

Cecil looked over at him and maintained the eye contact for a couple long moments. Carlos gave him a small, worried smile, and could have almost sworn Cecil looked…surprised. Grateful, even.

Then Cecil looked down at the plate again pulled it back towards himself, and continued eating. Carlos sat back further, pointedly ignoring the quiet rumblings of his own stomach, watching as Cecil quietly demolished the rest of the dinner, collecting every last sliver of food and doing everything but licking the plate.

When he finished, he pushed the plate away again and looked back up at Carlos, who hadn’t realized until then that he was staring. The scientist blinked and looked away quickly before standing up and taking Cecil’s plate without a word. He put it near the sink and then came back and sat down, this time in the chair adjacent to Cecil’s.

Cecil didn’t look up as Carlos sat down, keeping his eyes instead on the table, his hands again folded in his lap. He was sitting very carefully on the edge of his seat, looking very much like he expected to be punished, though there was a touch of color in his cheeks now that hadn’t been there before.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” Carlos asked gently. “Before just now.”

Cecil shrugged and kept his eyes on the table.

“Have you eaten _anything?_ I mean, didn’t anyone at the radio station—”

Cecil shook his head. “They didn’t know.”

Carlos stared at him a bit longer, at a loss for words. Cecil glanced up at him and then down to his hands, which were now twisting around each other anxiously in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” Cecil said quickly, and then the words all came out in a rush. “I know I shouldn’t have; I never meant for you to worry; I just couldn’t bear the thought of you going hungry because of some stupid rule, and besides, it’s better this way; you’re a scientist—you’re more important than me, your job is more important—”

“ _Cecil!_ ”

Cecil stuttered to a stop, glanced up at him, and abruptly looked back down at his hands, which had stopped with his words. “I’m sorry,” he said again, very quietly. “I just—I didn’t know how to tell you.” A single tear rolled down Cecil’s cheek, and then another, and he brushed them away angrily, sniffling. “I figured it wouldn’t be too long; I could make it a couple of days. It’s just that there’s never been a disaster zone declaration in place for more than a week—except for that time in 1983, but that was a fluke, everyone knows that—”

Carlos couldn’t take it anymore. Cecil just looked so pathetic, sitting there wringing his hands in his lap, trying to explain to Carlos that he had done this to himself to spare Carlos from it, and all of a sudden it was just too much.

Carlos leaned forward and pulled Cecil into a hug, and he thought he’d never heard a more relieved gasp as Cecil quickly reciprocated, burying his head in Carlos’ shoulder and gripping him tightly around the middle. As Carlos wound his hands around Cecil’s lower back, he abruptly realized that, even through Cecil’s shirt, he could feel the radio host was thinner than usual, his ribs pronounced ridges under Carlos’ gentle fingers.

“Oh, Carlos, it’s been terrible,” Cecil confessed into his shoulder, trying unsuccessfully to sniffle back tears, “and it was just going to be a couple days, I swear. But then the disaster declaration had just been happening for so _long_ , and I thought now I’d better just stick it out until the end, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry I was dodging you, I didn’t realize I was making you worry—”

Carlos shushed him and ran his hands up and down Cecil’s back, realizing as he did so that Cecil was chilled to the touch and still trembling violently. “You’re cold,” Carlos told him, pulling back a little and not even bothering to mask the worry in his voice.

Cecil nodded and half-shrugged and tried to pull back closer to Carlos. “Last couple of days,” he admitted. “And the shaking—I didn’t think the shaking would be so bad. I mean, the rest of it wasn’t too bad, apart from the awful diarrhea and the cramps…after a couple of days, I wasn’t even all that hungry anymore…”

Now that it was all coming out, Cecil seemed just so relieved, his words trailing off breathlessly as he scooted closer and tilted his head down onto Carlos’ shoulder.

“Oh, Carlos, I’m just so sorry.”

“You won’t do it again?” Carlos prompted.

Cecil hesitated.

“Don’t do it again.”

Cecil nodded. “Okay,” he croaked.

“And if there’s something similar—I don’t care what it is—if there’s a shortage of something, or…or _something_ — _please_ tell me. We can share; I can do without.”

Cecil opened his mouth to object, but Carlos shushed him with a finger against his lips. “Ah-ah. If you can do without, _I_ can do without. It’s simple science.”

He felt Cecil’s mouth quirk up into a smile against his finger.

“Like, for instance, I don’t need to eat a full plate at every meal. Especially since there’s a shortage. I can get along on less. And I bought some soup this time around, and that’ll do for a couple of meals, see? You’ve just got to be smart about what you buy.”

Cecil nodded against his shoulder. “’Better at this than me,” Cecil croaked. “It’s ‘cause you’re a scientist.”

Carlos smiled and patted Cecil on the back again. “Well, at least we’re all on the same page now—oh! One last thing.” He pulled back, putting a hand on each of Cecil’s shoulders and carefully pushing him back into his own chair. He beamed at Cecil, who smiled sadly and continued sniffing embarrassedly. “Considering how this all shook out, as well as the fact that it’s really long overdue at this point—Cecil—I’m going to become a citizen!”

Cecil blinked at him. “Of Night Vale?”

“Of course, of Night Vale! I figure there’ll be tons of paperwork, and I was hoping you could help me out with that, actually, if you didn’t mind, and then people would finally stop calling me an outsider, and maybe nothing like the thing with the old oak doors will ever happen again, and besides, if I’m staying with you—”

Carlos broke off as Cecil lunged forward and enveloped the scientist in a huge hug. “Oh Carlos, would you really?”

Carlos, a bit taken aback, smiled uncertainly and returned the hug. “Er, yeah?”

Cecil pulled back, and his eyes were still bright with tears, but this time he was smiling through them. “ _Thank you_ , Carlos. Oh, this is wonderful! We’ll go to City Hall first thing tomorrow, and you can get your New Citizen Welcome Packet and mandatory orange poncho, and you can get your blood put on file, and then you’ll be entered for all the holidays and parades—”

“Oh, _yay_ ,” Carlos said unenthusiastically, but Cecil didn’t pick up on his tone. Besides, Cecil looked properly excited for the first time all week, his eyes alight.

“—and you can start working on your Alert Citizen Card, and our relationship will move to the Citizen-Citizen status, which will save a lot of blood and paperwork, and if you ever end up outside of Night Vale, you’ll always be guaranteed a way back—oh, _Carlos_ ,” Cecil broke off with a breathy sigh, and leaned forward to kiss Carlos gently on the lips. “Are you really going to stay?”

Carlos quirked a smile at him. “Of course I am, silly; this is where you are.” Cecil hugged him again, and Carlos barely had time to add, “And besides, Night Vale’s my home now too.”

Carlos finally managed to extricate himself from Cecil’s grasp; it wasn’t very late yet, but this spurt of excitement seemed to be draining Cecil of what little energy he had left, and Carlos was aiming to get him into bed before he wore him out entirely.

Cecil allowed himself to be drawn to his feet and led from the kitchen, though, to Carlos’ alarm, he started shaking again after a few steps.

“You all right?” Carlos asked worriedly as he saw Cecil close his eyes and reach out for a wall for support.

“Ye-ah. Just dizzy.”

He seemed okay after a moment, so Carlos walked him the rest of the way into the bedroom, where he collapsed all too willingly on the covers.

Carlos flopped down beside him and was very relieved when Cecil immediately snuggled closer, sliding an arm up to rest on Carlos’ chest, fingers playing with his collar.

“So,” Carlos began after a moment. “Speaking just from scientific curiosity—and if you don’t mind—how did you do it? I mean, you must have been starving all the time, and you just…didn’t eat anything?”

Cecil shrugged noncommittally from near his shoulder. “I heard somewhere that drinking a lot of water helps keep your stomach quiet, and then it was a lot of chewing on ice too. Apparently eating dirt helps too, but I figured I’d probably tell you before I did that.” Cecil laughed, but it sounded nervous and hollow.

Carlos wrapped his arms around Cecil, carefully ignoring the feeling of Cecil’s ribs beneath his shirt.

“Well, it’s over now,” he said at last. “And we’re going to put some meat back on those bones. You’re eating square meals every day, and don’t even try to cop out on me—I’ll be watching.”

He saw Cecil smile a little as he closed his eyes. “Thank you, Carlos. I _was_ going to tell you, you know…if it went on for too long. I really thought I could handle it.”

“Well, you don’t have to,” Carlos said firmly. “You don’t have to wait on me hand and foot—I’m not made of glass—and besides, I’m here for you too. If we’re _together_ ,” Carlos indicated them, and their relationship, “then we’re in things together too. Not alone. Not one saving the other. We face our problems together, okay? Equal shares. You’ve got to trust me.”

Cecil blinked his eyes open and looked up at Carlos, horrified. “But I _do_ trust you, Carlos!” he protested.

“With the big things too, Cecil, okay? Not just the little things. Everything. Anything that bothers you—a little, a lot—I want to know. Okay?”

The corner of Cecil’s mouth twitched up into a smile. “Okay,” he replied easily, tilting his head back down onto Carlos’s shoulder, stifling a yawn. “Sorry. I know it’s not even late yet, but I’m just so tired…waking up at odd hours and stuff…” Cecil looked slightly guilty again, but Carlos brushed his worries away with a hand through the radio host’s hair.

“Don’t worry. We can call it an early night. I’m feeling a bit tired myself.” Carlos really wasn’t tired at all, but considering the fact that this morning he’d been seriously wondering if Cecil was going to break it off, he wasn’t going to miss this opportunity.

So he continued running his fingers through Cecil’s hair as the radio host’s eyes slid shut. He hummed softly as he stroked, and ran through his head as many meals he could think of that could be easily stretched to accommodate two. It wasn’t difficult to prepare a mental list, and he promised himself he’d covertly write it down in the morning, right before they went to City Hall to begin applying for citizenship. By the time his citizenship went into effect, the “disaster” would probably be over, but it was insurance for the future.

No, it was more than that. It was a promise, a promise for an assumed future spent by the side of the most selfless radio host in the world, in the only town he thought he could ever really call home.


End file.
